


if this is a romcom, kill the director

by harukatenoh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Dinners, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 02:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harukatenoh/pseuds/harukatenoh
Summary: Jon can trace most of the misery in his life back to Catelyn Stark, so it makes sense that she's the source of his latest problem: being single at a Stark family dinner. (Un)fortunately, Theon is there to be... somewhat of a solution.





	if this is a romcom, kill the director

**Author's Note:**

> writing c*mm for my dearest friend bea! i love u! thank u! i hope u enjoy!
> 
> i'm offering kofi c*mmissions over on twitter @messybi, so check that out if u want a casual flexible fun fic c*mm from me. ao3 pls dont snipe me for this
> 
> title is from kill the director by the wombats

Jon Snow’s life was a tragicomedy, except it wasn’t funny. Not to him. To him, it was just extremely mortifying.

He groaned, putting his face in his hands again as he recalled the previous evening. “And then Sansa, of  _ course _ it’s Sansa, she’s like ‘Oh! All of us older kids are bringing dates to the dinner tonight!’ and Catelyn is all ‘Oh my god my children are all growing up! And maturing! I’m so proud of everybody!’ Except  _ I _ haven’t mentioned bringing a date, so obviously Robb, bless his dumbass heart, points that out. And everybody turns to me.”

Jon paused for breath, which allowed him to see how close Ygritte was to laughing. He frowned at her.

Ygritte, waving a hand, said “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please continue. The Stark family is my favourite soap opera.”

“Fuck off,” Jon snapped, but he wasn’t annoyed enough to stop telling the story. He continued with “So everybody looks at me. And Catelyn gets this look on her face. It’s her ‘once again, you let me and the entire family down, and you don’t belong here, and I’m disappointed but not surprised’ look, because even though not bringing a date to the fucking Christmas dinner isn’t a crime in  _ any _ country, she’ll take any chance she can get to hate me.”

“That’s a very specific description,” Ygritte commented. “I don’t know if a look can communicate all that.”

Jon scowled. “It exists, trust me. I’ve seen it enough times.”

Ygritte laughed, and reached over to steal one of Jon’s fries. Jon scowled even harder, but he knew that he had no chance of repelling her. He just watched helplessly as his emotional support fast food was pilfered.

“So,” Ygritte continued, happily eating her handful of fries. “Head bitch Catelyn jumps at the chance to treat you like a failure. And you…”

Jon groaned. “I decide to tell everybody that I, in fact,  _ am _ bringing a date. Except I obviously don’t have one, and now I’m going to be twice as humiliated when the dinner comes along, and Catelyn is going to get the last laugh, and I’m going to have to go live in a cave in the mountains to avoid this stupid family for the rest of my life.”

Ygritte rolled her eyes. “Jon Snow, has anybody ever told you that you’re melodramatic as fuck?”

“It might’ve come up a few times,” Jon huffed. “Look, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do!”

Ygritte hummed, looking considering. It didn’t fool Jon at all. He knew she was about to spout something ridiculous.

She said “I would be less sympathetic, because you did get yourself into this mess, but I am aware of how much of a bitch Catelyn is. So I have a solution.”

Jon, despite himself, leaned in.

“What you have to do,” Ygritte said gravely, poking Jon in the forehead with a fry, “is find a date. Who Catelyn would fucking  _ despise. _ Doesn’t matter how. Look on Craigslist, pay somebody on the street $50, just get somebody to pretend to be your date for this weekend who you know Catelyn would hate. That way, you prove her wrong, and piss her off even more.”

Jon had to really stop and look at Ygritte after that. Because that… that… was genius. Ridiculous, but  _ genius. _

“Holy shit,” Jon said. “Who would I take though? Not a random. I don’t want to deal with that.”

Ygritte shrugged. “Surely you have a friend or twelve who Catelyn hates for no reason. Pick one.”

“Catelyn hates you,” Jon suggested. It wasn’t likely to work, but it would sure be convenient.

Ygritte scoffed. “Jon, you cannot bring an  _ ex _ to your Christmas dinner. That’s lower than not having a date at all.”

He huffed, but he knew Ygritte was right. He needed somebody new. Somebody unexpected. Somebody who Catelyn would hate on sight. He needed… he needed…

It hit him, in a similar way to how trucks hit walls in crashes, or boxers hit punching bags in training. 

“Oh my god,” Jon said. 

“What?” Ygritte responded, immediately interested in the way the colour drained out of Jon’s face.

“I know who I have to bring.” But he couldn’t. Could he? No, surely, he couldn’t. 

Ygritte, who was as sharp as the knives she liked to carry around, realized within seconds.

_ “Oh my god,” _ she hissed. “You  _ can’t.” _

“It’d be perfect, though, wouldn’t it?” Jon said blankly. “Catelyn would be fuming. It’d be the biggest upset of the year.” His ability to feel emotions had up and left as soon as he started entertaining the idea, it seemed, because all he could do now was feel a numb acceptance. 

“Oh my god,” Ygritte said again. Jon could relate. “You’re bloody out of your mind,”

He knew that. But… but still. After twenty-one years of living under the same roof as Catelyn but never being a part of the family, Jon had a lot of built-up resentment. Enough that he could probably pull this off.

“I have to, Ygritte. It’s the perfect solution,” he said hollowly.

Ygritte shook her head. She stopped, looked at Jon with intense scrutiny, and then shook her head some more. “Will he even agree?”

Jon nodded. “He will. He definitely, definitely will.”

* * *

The second act of the mockery that was Jon’s life began with Theon Greyjoy crossing his arms and staring at him. 

They were meeting at their university campus, because it was a neutral space, and because it was the only place they could be without Robb butting in. Both of those things would be crucial to the success of this conversation.

“Run that by me again,” Theon said slowly. Jon rolled his eyes; he knew that Theon had heard him perfectly well the first time around. Still, he didn’t point that out, in the name of staying on Theon’s… good, in a loose sense of the word, side. At least he didn’t sound repulsed or dismissive; there was a wary confusion to his tone that Jon took to be a good sign if anything. It meant that he wasn’t going to reject Jon outright. After all, for all of his blustering to Ygritte, Jon wasn’t actually sure that this would work.

Sure, Theon hated Catelyn, probably as much as Jon did, but Jon didn’t know whether that outweighed how much he hated  _ Jon.  _ Jon hated him just as much, but he was usually willing to be the bigger man and put differences aside. Theon wasn’t exactly known for that.

“I told everybody that I would be bringing a date to the Christmas dinner this year even though I don’t have one, because every other Stark kid has a date and Catelyn was giving me a look over it. So I need you to pretend you can stand me for a weekend and be my date for the dinner in a  _ monumental  _ fuck you to her that we will both sincerely enjoy,” he paused, and then added “Please,” because as much as he hated Catelyn, she did raise him to have manners.

Theon seemed to turn over those words in his mind for a while, arms still crossed and lips pursing. Jon could feel himself getting tense. He wanted to do something like snap at Theon, or call it off and tell Theon to fuck off, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t going to get him the most satisfying Christmas dinner he would probably ever experience. He had to play nice.

Finally, Theon uncrossed his arms. He crossed them again. Just watching him fidget pissed Jon off. The bastard was probably just drawing this out to annoy Jon.

Theon said “Was it the ‘you’re a let down to everybody but especially me and I don’t know why you’re here spreading your disappointment in my hallways’ look?”

Jon, overcome with a sudden, brutal hit of camaraderie, exclaimed  _ “Yes!  _ That’s  _ exactly it!” _

Theon scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking more relaxed. “Fucking harpy,” he said with a scowl. 

Jon nodded in solidarity. 

“So…” Jon said, looking at Theon hopefully. 

He stepped closer to Jon, which gave Jon the full view as a smirk spread over his face. It was the closest thing Jon had seen to a genuine smile on his face ever since Robb had started dating Jeyne. Honestly, Jon had forgotten that Theon could look kind of nice sometimes.

“I’m in,” Theon said. “Let’s make her life  _ hell.” _

Nevermind looking kind of nice, Jon thought that he could kiss Theon right then and there.

* * *

As with all great plays, there were famous words, ones so powerful that when uttered they would define the rest of the story. 

For Jon, the words that spelled his demise were “You know, we need to sell this.”

Which was apparently code for  _ we need to hang out intensely over the next two days before the dinner so we can create an entire relationship from nothing. _

Honestly, Jon should’ve expected that Theon would be unnecessarily into this.

He was dragged into café after café, where they wrote up their relationship history, made rules and decorum for the weekend, and took an abhorrent amount of selfies with each other. Theon said it was because anybody who knew him would suspect if he didn’t have a lot of pictures with his boyfriend, and in a lot of different places. Jon was pretty sure it was only because Theon wanted to torture him.

They were sitting in a… to be fair, rather nice place, for their last stop for the day. It was cozy and warm against the chill of the winter outside, and Theon swore up and down that the salted caramel profiteroles they served were to die for. Upon eating them, Jon, reluctantly, had to agree.

“We started getting closer after Robb got together with Jeyne, because he didn’t have time for us anymore,” Theon said, scribbling it down in his notebook. “That way, we can indirectly place the blame on golden child Robb Stark as well, to infuriate Catelyn even more.”

It occurred to Jon that he just enlisted the services of a criminal mastermind. 

“We’ll have to sleep in the same bed,” Jon said, awkwardly. Theon shrugged and wrote down _4\. No stealing blankets_ on the list of rules that also included _1\. We_ _cannot_ _tell Robb,_ _2\. Theon needs to be nice to Ghost_ and _3\. Jon needs to wear one coloured article of clothing._

Honestly, Jon was still a little hung up on that first rule. He considered calling it off, once he realized that he would have to lie to Robb, and that Theon would have to lie to Robb too. Jon knew Theon. Robb Stark was their one great equalizer, and neither of them could look him in the eyes and lie.

But when he brought this up to Theon, all Theon did was shrug and say “I’ll take care of it. Robb won’t be an issue.”

“You’re going to lie to him? To  _ Robb?” _ Jon asked, incredulous.

Theon, gaze dark and staring down at the café table, shrugged again. “Just don’t worry about it.”

Jon was going to worry regardless, but Theon did seem… confident. Strangely reserved while saying it, but confident nonetheless. To be fair, the thought of lying to Robb was probably throwing him off a little.

After that, the rest of their history was written, and the rest of the rules were created. Theon, surprisingly, because Jon hadn’t been sure he even knew the definition of the word, also set some boundaries. It felt weird, really, to be talking about a relationship in such a procedural way, but it did make Jon feel more comforted to know that he and Theon were not required to hold hands. He fucking hated holding hands. 

Jon wasn’t a very physically affectionate person, but he knew Theon was, so when Theon said “No unnecessary touching,” it caught him off guard.

“Really?” Jon asked. 

Theon looked up from his notebook, eyebrows raised. “You don’t like touching anybody but your dog,” he said dryly, as if it were obvious. “If we were dating, would I be pushing that?”

Jon bit back the comment that if he and Theon were dating, he wouldn’t mind physical affection, because the point was that they  _ weren’t. _ Of course Theon would be taking the route that required less interaction. It wasn’t like Jon wanted to be cuddled up with Theon all the time anyway, like Theon and Robb were often wont to do. 

The decision made sense. It still sat strangely in his stomach.

Before Jon could really think about it, he was blurting out “I don’t mind.”

Theon looked askance at him. Jon noticed, oddly, that Theon was a very expressive person. He’d always had the idea in the back of his mind that Theon was always smiling, but given a bit more scrutiny, Jon realized how easily he could read emotions off of Theon’s face.

With a look of confusion on his features, Theon asked “You don’t mind?”

Jon, now scrambling to justify his impulsive words, shrugged. He looked away from Theon, unwilling to see how his reaction would play out and said “Well, I don’t know. It’d be suspicious if you were more cuddly with Robb then you were with me.”

Theon scoffed. “Robb’s a teddy bear. He’d cuddle with anybody.”

“But you aren’t dating Robb. You’re dating me.” Jon surprised himself with how insistent he was while saying that. 

There was a silence, and then Theon said “Alright, Snow. Feel free to sit on my lap as you please.” 

The words were teasing, but his voice lacked any real cadence or intonation. 

Jon didn’t know why. He could probably just look up at Theon and find out, but he had just come to a realization, sitting here. He realized that he felt something off; there was something was building in the silence that grew between the two of them right now, and to look up would be to acknowledge it. For some reason he couldn’t figure out, Jon didn’t think that was a good idea.

So he let the thing, whatever it may be, pass on quietly. When he next looked up, Theon was already flipping closed the notebook and saying “I think we’re done then. Bar actually being in a relationship, we’ve got it down.”

Jon nodded, eyes glued to the careful way Theon’s hair was falling across his face. It obscured his expression from Jon, and he almost had to wonder whether it was on purpose. 

In the end, Jon let it be, and all he did was say “I’ll pick you up tomorrow then,”

Theon finally looked up, and he was grinning, something sharp and reckless and excited. “Can’t wait to ruin Catelyn’s weekend,” he said.

Jon couldn’t do anything but grin back. He almost looked forward to having Theon around for it. There was nobody else who would relish in it, who would truly  _ get it, _ like Theon would. It was almost like he was beginning to enjoy Theon’s company, except that was ridiculous.

* * *

(Famous last words.)

Instead of their agreed time, Theon asked Jon to come and pick him up fifteen minutes early. It wasn’t enough to concern Jon, so he simply agreed and went about his day, almost forgetting that it was Christmas, that the dinner was today.

So he was somewhat unprepared, when he arrived at Theon’s doorstep, to have Theon pull him inside his apartment.

The door slammed behind him, and Jon came to the realization in that moment that he’d never been in here before. It was quite nice. Well decorated, with an open and light layout that leant itself to a free and calm atmosphere.

It was a shame that Theon was the person inhabiting it.

“What,” Jon said. He didn’t find himself willing to offer anything else in the way of conversation.

Theon, dressed up in an unfortunately striking suit and looking like he had stepped off a runway, said “We missed out something yesterday.”

He looked strangely anxious. Jon rolled his eyes. He couldn’t wait to hear what ridiculous thing Theon had worked himself up about now.

Then, Theon said “We’ll need to kiss each other at least once,” and something in Jon’s brain stopped working.

“What,” he said again. What a versatile word. It truly expressed Jon in ways no other word could.

Theon was switching between looking impatient and looking tremendously nervous, which created a cocktail of emotions that Jon did not want to be sipping on, in any way shape or form. With a short, jerky wave of his hand that communicated nothing, Theon said “Well. You know. We need practice.” 

Jon, still shocked and not entirely present, only barely felt himself saying the obligatory insult: “What, you need to practice kissing, Greyjoy? I didn’t realize you were so inexperienced.”

Theon added scowling to the alcoholic mix of feelings he was projecting, and snapped “We just spent years unable to be in the same room without threatening grievous bodily harm. Do you want our first kiss ever to be in front of a crowd after all that?”

He had… a point… Jon supposed, if he could just get his mind past the idea of  _ kissing Theon. _ Which he apparently couldn’t. He just… had never thought of Theon in that way before. Sure, that sounded incredibly dumb, considering he was the one to propose that they pretend to be together in the first place, but Theon’s entry into the parts of Jon’s mind that he associated with love and sex was a disruptive one.

Still reeling from the suggestion, Jon was silent for long enough that something shuttered in Theon’s expression and he said “Whatever, nevermind. We can probably manage this without needing to lock lips.”

Jon, like he had been a lot recently, surprised himself by saying “No, you’re… right. We’ll need to practice.” He grimaced at the word. It sounded so fucking juvenile.

Theon stared at him for a while longer, evidently measuring up his response. His anxiety made Jon anxious in response, and he snapped “Well? Come on?”

With a squaring of his shoulders, Theon said “Right. Okay then.”

They stared at each other. Nobody made a move.

After a long, long while, or so it seemed, Theon stepped forward. Jon, on instinct, flinched back.

“Um,” he said, voice cracking a little, “how are we doing this?”

Jon’s only consolation was that Theon looked as off-kilter as he felt, even as he made an attempt at rolling his eyes and snarking “Who’s inexperienced now?”

It made Jon laugh, surprisingly, the sound escaping before he could quite catch it. It eased something between them; they ended up smiling at each other, albeit awkwardly. Theon took in a deep breath. Jon felt himself mirror the action.

Then, Theon was leaning forward, and pressing their mouths together. 

Jon screwed his eyes shut and tried to forget that it was Theon Greyjoy, scourge of his life, who he was kissing, but with the lingering smell of salt and chlorine and the brush of long hair against his face, it was almost impossible. He was this close to jerking away, to calling the entire thing off after all, when Theon brought a hand up to his face and cupped it, pulling him in further.

All of Jon’s hesitations disappeared when Theon sighed a little and opened his mouth, sinking further into the kiss, because  _ holy fuck. _

Theon Greyjoy was very, very,  _ very _ good at kissing. 

Jon felt himself melt into the kiss as Theon pushed it further, unable to stop himself from making a frankly embarrassing noise when Theon licked into his mouth. He tasted like the sea and felt like a furnace and Jon couldn’t quite form any coherent thoughts beyond how nice it was. To be kissing Theon. With his skilled tongue and soft hands and warm breath.

When Theon pulled away, Jon knew instantly that he had a full face blush. Hazily, he reflected on how he had never understood how Theon always pulled so many partners before; sure, Theon was nice enough to look at, but anybody would be turned off as soon as he opened his mouth. 

He now realized that it was because Theon was most likely some kind of sex god, if his talent at kissing extended to the rest of it.

When he came back to himself enough to focus on his surroundings, he noticed that 1) he’d probably been silently stunned for too long than socially appropriate after sticking your tongue down somebody’s throat, and 2) Theon wasn’t looking at him. After that impressive display, and considering how obviously impressed Jon was, Jon would’ve expected him to look smarmy and smug as he usually did. Instead, his face was cast downwards, full and red lips almost shaping a frown.

Confused at the reaction, Jon jokingly asked “Wow, that bad?” except it comes out half sincere, half dazed still.

Theon looked up then, and gave Jon the mockery of a smile he usually reserved for trying, and failing, to convince Robb that he was okay after having to see his father or something equally horrible. Seeing it was awful enough that Jon was shocked out of his stupor.

“It was fine,” Theon said, smile still stretching across his face, ugly and plastic, “maybe there’s hope for you after all, Snow!”

Jon didn’t rise to the bait. He just stared at Theon, trying to work out what could’ve possibly put that look on his face. 

Theon, to his credit, stared back for a good few seconds, before looking away again. The look melted away, for which Jon was glad, but it left in its place a disconcerting blankness that he didn’t know how to react to either.

Theon said “Let’s get going, then,” and pushed past Jon.

Jon trailed behind Theon and wondered what he was missing.

* * *

The final act started off with their arrival at the Stark mansion, and started pretty fucking well at that. Jon wished, more than he had ever wanted something in his life, that somebody had been filming when he and Theon walked through the door. 

They had calculated their arrival, courtesy of Theon’s frankly impressive penchant for conniving, so that they would be coming a little after everybody else had arrived. There was a full crowd for their arrival, and there would be nobody afterwards to distract.

Seriously, Jon would pay  _ good money _ for footage of Catelyn’s face when she opened the door and he and Theon were standing there, arm in arm. 

In a show of uncharacteristic lack of control, she had blurted out “What are  _ you _ doing here?”, directed at Theon.

And Theon, who had a smile like daggers and a voice like honey, had replied “Why, Catelyn, Jon and I are together. You didn’t know?”

It was a talent. A sheer  _ talent, _ the way Theon could find the perfect thing to say or do to get under Catelyn’s skin. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

Theon had looked at Jon and smiled, and they had shared a laugh over a petty comment Theon made about how  _ in the dark _ Catelyn seemed to be about her children’s lives. Catelyn, speechless as she rarely ever was, had watched as they walked into the venerated Stark house hallways together, high on the taste of victory.

Everybody else was present between the kitchen and the living room, which provided another audience to their spectacle. This included Robb, which did make Jon balk slightly, but as soon as Robb had seen them, Theon had caught his eye and motioned to the side. Leaving Jon to fend off the rest of the family, Theon and Robb had retreated to the further hallway: still in sight, but out of earshot.

The conversation that they were having seemed to be a fairly serious one, with low tones and meaningful looks, so Jon had to assume that Theon was telling Robb the truth. It was a good call. Now that they were here and the plan was fully in motion, there was less Robb could do to derail it, and he probably deserved to know out of everybody.

Jon felt something inside him settle with the knowledge that his brother knew. Strangely, it helped him lie easier to everybody else.

Outside of Catelyn, it was nearly as gratifying and hilarious to see everybody else’s reactions. Sansa looked like she was going to pass out at the thought, while her girlfriend Margaery looked absolutely delighted with them and the way Catelyn followed behind them, fuming. 

Bran looked as pleased as he always did with Theon’s presence, which was not at all. As Jon made the rounds, he muttered something about seeing Theon enough because of Robb as it was, and Jon had to laugh. He would’ve related, a week ago, but now he was riding high and couldn’t sympathize with his little brother in the slightest.

“You’ll be seeing even more of him now!” Jon chirped, revelling in the matching sounds of disgust and affront Bran and Catelyn make.

Arya seemed genuinely pleased with the development, which was surprising all the way up until she stormed up to Jon and said, verbatim, “You idiots better get married so I can become related to Asha.”

The thought of Arya liking Theon’s sister more than she ever liked Theon or Jon was depressingly hysterical, and Jon had to compose himself several times to stop from bursting out laughing. 

Theon chose to come back just as Arya left, rolling her eyes and pointing towards Theon with meaningful looks, with Robb in tow. Jon gave Robb a smile, and was shocked to see that Robb was looking kind of  _ teary. _ What the fuck? Did the thought of them lying to Catelyn upset him that much?

Before Jon could say anything, Robb pulled him into a hug and said “I promise I’ve already given Theon this talk, and that I’m not picking sides. But… take care of him, Jon,” and he was thrown for a loop yet again. 

Looking over to Theon, Jon found his expression frozen over in a smile, a far cry from the one he usually adopted around Robb. It looked a lot like the one he had been sporting earlier today, before they had driven up, and the sight of it makes dread and confusion swirl together in Jon’s gut.

Robb pulled Jon’s attention back by saying “I’m happy for you,” all sincere. He looked at Theon, then, and Jon watched as his expression softened into something that echoed of joy and relief. “I really am,” Robb repeated, quieter. 

In response, something shifted in Theon’s expression; something like heartbreak and happiness and resignation all in one, none of which made sense at all. Jon didn’t know how Theon could just pick out emotions, contradictory and unwieldy, and shake them together like that. It seemed exhausting. It seemed very practiced. He didn’t know what that implied, about Theon.

Jon felt that he didn’t know much about Theon at all. That he was missing some part of the puzzle here, even if he had been the instigator and the driving force behind this entire situation.

Still, the one thing Jon did know about Theon was that he was a very good actor, so when the look passed and he resumed projecting smugness everywhere, Jon fell into step with him. He could question Theon, or Robb, about the weirdness later. Right now, they had more important things to be doing. With everybody arrived and the table set, it was about time for dinner.

They walked into the dining room together. Theon’s arm around Jon was beginning to become familiar, as was the ill-concealed look of dismay from Catelyn. Life could be worse.

* * *

Dinner was a dream.

Jon couldn’t remember ever enjoying a Stark family dinner more. Catelyn spent half of the time glaring as Theon and Jon regaled people with stories of their relationship; as the current holders of the position of newest and shiniest development, they were thus also the centre of attention. Jon had been worried about keeping up consistent lies for that long, but he had forgotten two key things. 

The first, that Theon was stupidly good at lying, and the second, that they had their fare share of joint incidents that could be easily twisted to be romantic. 

Honestly, it was far easier than Jon had even realized, as he listened to Theon tell the story about how they had both been locked out of the Stark house one night and ended up resentfully helping each other break in to Jon’s room. It was believable. It was kind of hilarious. Jon had never thought about any of those moments in that way before, but he and Theon did kind of grow up together; they were around each other more often than not.

He ended the dinner feeling weirdly glad that he had picked Theon for this task: even Ygritte wouldn’t have been able to pull it off the way Theon did. There was just so much shared history between him and Jon, with their pre-existing dynamic nearly perfect for the job.

Theon had offered to help do the dishes afterwards and Catelyn had almost slammed the door in his face. Jon had needed to cover his mouth to stop from laughing.

In general, Theon acted fine for the rest of the night. There was no trace of the weirdness from before, even though Jon was certain that he hadn’t been making it up. It left him half resolved even further to ask about it, and half more convinced that he should leave it be. 

He didn’t know why he was so concerned anyway; it seemed like Theon was dealing with it just fine, and knowing him it was probably something pointless anyway.

Still, it sat strangely in Jon’s stomach, regardless of how well the night went. 

Honestly, it was typical for Theon to find yet another new and creative way to ruin Jon’s good moods. Jon caught himself—not quite staring, but watching, as Theon moved around the room: talking to Robb, flirting with Margaery, staring down Catelyn. Jon watched and kept watching, each movement that Theon made coming with layers hiding underneath that he couldn’t quite pin the origin of.

It was only when Sansa stepped up next to him and commented “You’re staring,”, her tone amused, that Jon really registered what he was doing. And as far as everybody was concerned, he was allowed to stare, allowed to observe and linger, but it still made him self-conscious to be caught. 

At least Theon seemed to not notice. It lessened the sudden curl of bashfulness in Jon’s head, making him feel less like a weirdo obsessing over Theon.

Turning to concentrate on Sansa, Jon let himself be roped into a conversation with her about her and Margaery’s latest holiday, and tried to put his mind to rest. Nobody should ever be this worked up or concerned over Theon Greyjoy. It went against all sensibility, and it specifically went against all of Jon’s sensibilities.

Then, when they were done with socializing for the day and settling down in Jon’s old bedroom, Theon said “I’m going to sleep in Robb’s room tonight,” quietly, and all of Jon’s feelings came crashing back down.

“What?” Jon asked. “Isn’t he going to be with Jeyne?”  _ Do you really dislike the idea of sleeping in the same room as me that much?  _ he wanted to add, but he kept his tongue. That was a pointless question. Of course Theon disliked it.

Jon was supposed to dislike it too. He didn’t, which was strange and confusing and distressing, but he had to admit to himself that he didn’t really mind spending the night with Theon. Even if he had to sleep on the floor or something. He had imagined that they would pass the night by swapping stories of Catelyn’s reign of terror, or complaining about the university cafeteria, or even just reflecting on how not-bad the night had been.

Except that wasn’t going to happen, because Theon was going to go sleep in Robb’s room instead, which shouldn’t be as unexpected as it was considering that they were best friends, but still threw Jon for a loop regardless.

Theon shrugged, grabbing his bag and saying “Jeyne has work tomorrow, so she left early tonight. I—it’s probably better this way,”

Theon sounded quieter, almost smaller, than Jon had ever thought he could sound. It felt wrong, but Jon had no idea what he was supposed to do to make it right.

“Sure,” he said. Belatedly, he added “It’s not like I wanted to bunk with you,”

Theon smiled, humourless, and replied “Of course not. I’m a serial blanket stealer, anyway.” His tone had no spirit, no bite at all. 

Jon had gotten very good at being alone during his lifetime, but something inside of him still untethered when Theon turned around and left him, door closing gently as he went.

Left to his own devices, Jon did what he did best and sulked for a bit, even if he was twenty one years old and an adult by any metric of the world. 

However, because he was an adult, and somewhat more mature than he had been at sixteen, he soon realized that he was being an idiot about the situation. Sulking about being left alone was great and all, but Robb and Theon were both his friends; if he felt that bad, he could just… go hang out with them. There was no need for the melodrama of his youth.

With a roll of his eyes, he left his room and walked down the hallway to Robb’s door. Slightly ajar as it was, he could already hear the wisps of conversation coming from inside. 

Jon heard Robb, voice low and heated, saying “—you serious? He asked you to fake-date him and you said  _ yes?” _

Jon would feel bad for eavesdropping, but this conversation directly involved him; honestly, he was a little offended that Theon had snuck off to spill the truth to Robb and hadn’t invited him.

“Yes,” Theon replied, voice full of hollow amusement. “And then I took advantage of the situation and made out with him in my hallway.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Robb said “Theon Greyjoy, you are the world’s second biggest idiot.”

“Yeah,” Theon said, sounding defeated. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Only second to my brother, whom I love dearly, but who is definitely the singular biggest idiot in the world,” Robb continued.

“Yeah,” Theon said again. “Can’t argue with that either,”

Another beat of silence. Jon was too busy being offended to remember that his position right now, standing outside of Robb’s door and eavesdropping, was a precarious one. 

So when Robb said “But you’ve still been in love with him for several years,” sounding sympathetic and fed up at the same time, Jon didn’t stop himself from jerking, knee coming into contact with the door and pushing it open further, and saying _ “What,” _

Theon and Robb both looked up like deer in headlights.

Jon well and truly had nothing else to say, nothing else he could possibly  _ think, _ so he said _ “What,” _ again.

Robb, man of action, and also apparently man of extreme cowardice, looked at Theon and then at Jon and then at his phone.

“Oh,” he said, staring at the obviously dark screen, “Jeyne is calling me. I gotta, uh, go,”

He ran out of the room, brushing past Jon with a pat on his back and a “Please be gentle,” and then it’s just Jon and Theon staring at each other. Jon in the doorway, feeling like he would never move again. Theon on the bed, looking like he wanted to throw himself out the window.

It was that image, more than anything, that made Jon speak again. Because he didn’t like how Theon looked, the fear plain on his face and more heartbreakingly honest than any expression Jon’s ever seen on him. 

Jon didn’t like seeing Theon like that.

He said “Is… is that true?” and winced at the way Theon’s expression shuttered, the walls coming up so quickly that Jon couldn’t get in a word otherwise.

Theon looked away from him. Jon watched as he curled his hands, and then uncurled them: slowly, trying to stymie the shaking. 

“Yes,” Theon said. There was no challenge in his voice. There was barely anything at all.

“How long?” Jon rasped. He wasn’t sure why he was asking. He wanted to know, but he wasn’t sure why at all.

Theon’s hands curled again. He said, slowly, mouthing each word with painstaking care, “Five years.”

Five years was a long, long time. The enormity of it hit Jon, and it hit him hard. Theon Greyjoy had been in love with him for five years. It seemed impossible. How much did you have to love somebody for it to last for five years?

Theon still wasn’t looking at Jon. He looked like he had been scraped raw and vulnerable and simultaneously looked like he was a million miles away and untouchable. Jon didn’t know which he hated more. Having grown up beside Theon, Jon was aware that Theon had a lot of things to be sad about. There were a lot of heartbreaking things about Theon’s life, and Jon suddenly and passionately hated that he had become another one of them.

He didn’t want to break Theon’s heart. Theon being smarmy or smug or arrogant or obnoxious, those things Jon could handle, but he couldn’t handle Theon being heartbroken.

He asked “Why did you say yes?”

Theon scoffed. Jon saw the ghost of his usual confidence somewhere in the gesture, but it was nigh unnoticeable.

Theon said “I figured it was the closest I could get,” bitterly.

Jon thought about Theon. He thought about kissing Theon in his hallway. He thought about laughing with Theon’s arm around him. He thought about watching Theon all night. 

He thought about how he didn’t want Theon to be sad, because Theon had been sad for so, so fucking long. He thought about how he wanted Theon to be happy. How he wanted to make Theon happy.

Oh.

Jon Snow was a fucking idiot.

He stumbled into the room, unsure of where to put his feet, unsure of where to direct his gaze. He wanted Theon to look at him. 

He said, throat dry, “Theon. Look at me.”

Theon laughed, a brittle sound. “You want to look me in the eye when you break my heart? I didn’t think you were that cruel, Jon.”

“I’m not going to break your heart,” Jon said, because the thought of Theon thinking that was unbearable.

Theon laughed again. “Then what? What are you going to do, Jon?”

Jon replied “I don’t know,” because he didn’t, and then realized it was the wrong thing to say when Theon turned the full force of his gaze on him. Eyes accusing and hurt.

“You are infuriating,” Theon said, low and unsteady.

Jon, ridiculously, wanted to laugh. “Coming from you,” he responded, “being in love with me for five years and not saying anything and expecting me to know exactly what to do when I  _ do  _ find out,”

Incredulity passed over Theon’s face. “You—” he stammered, “you weren’t supposed to know! And it’s a pretty fucking simple thing, Jon, you let me down easy and—and then we move on and never speak of it again and—I shouldn’t need to spell out my own  _ rejection _ for you!”

Theon was red-faced. He looked torn between sheer disbelief and misery now, which was better than pure misery at least.

And so Jon, gathering whatever was left of his dignity and bravery, said “What if I don’t want to reject you?”

Theon stopped in his tracks. He said, enunciated perfectly, “What.”

He was staring at Jon now, and Jon found that he couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I don’t want to reject you,” Jon said, looking down at the floor.

“But—” Theon stumbled, “you—that means you— _ what?” _

Jon swallowed, realizing that he was horrifically nervous for some reason. It wasn’t like Theon was going to reject him, but this was… terrifying. Jon had literally only  _ just _ realized that whatever he felt for Theon wasn’t entirely platonic and Theon had five years on him and all he really knew was that he didn’t want Theon to be sad. Not anymore.

Carefully, because he really didn’t want to fuck this up, Jon said “I don’t.. Know specifically what I mean. But. You’re not terrible, I guess. And I want you to be happy.”

Possessed by a sudden spur of bravery, Jon looked up. Theon was staring at him. There was a hope in those blue-green eyes that was captivating, the kind of light that Jon wanted to grab hold of and keep forever.

He said “I want to make you happy,”

Theon, wide-eyed and handsome, said “You’re serious.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“You’re serious,” Theon repeated, and this time his voice was bordering on hysterical.

“Are you going to cry?” Jon asked, askance, because even when he was trying not to be one, Jon was still a bit of an asshole.

Theon laughed and then choked off into a sob, and said “Five years, Jon Snow,” and well, that was fair. “It’s been five fucking years.”

Jon hesitantly said “Good things come to those who wait?” and Theon laughed sincerely this time, a sound that still rang out clear and unhindered despite the tears forming in his eyes.

“You’re the worst thing to ever happen to me,” Theon snapped, without any heat whatsoever. Jon felt a smile overtake his face as he walked closer, close enough to lean in and wipe away the tears trailing down Theon’s face.

“I could say the same for you,” Jon replied, unable to stop smiling. Theon, ridiculously, broke into another round of tears. This entire fucking thing was ridiculous. Jon didn’t think he would ever stop smiling again.

Then, there was a knock on the still-open door, and Robb’s voice rang out saying “So I’m like, super uber super happy for you two, and that was kind of sweet despite how emotionally constipated you both are, and I love you both, but could I have my room back now?”

Before Theon or Jon could respond, Sansa called out. “Robb, you asshole, don’t ruin the moment!”

It had probably not been the greatest idea to do this in the Stark household, where the walls were thin and the people were nosy, and soon enough the hallway had erupted into a clamour of voices congratulating and arguing and exclaiming.

Jon looked at Theon, who was still teary and furiously wiping his eyes. Theon looked back.

They both burst into laughter. 

As Jon listened to Robb whine more complaints about his bedroom and felt Theon press up against him, head leaning on his shoulder, both of them still shaking with laughter, he suddenly realized something.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, “Catelyn is going to be  _ so mad,” _

Theon moved back just enough to meet Jon’s gaze, and they stared at each other for a few moments. 

Then they burst into laughter again.


End file.
